


His name will set me free

by seasaltpepper



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Caleb in denial, Fjord's twang gives boners, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nicknames, Panic Attacks, Pining, Unresolved Ending, but not obvious, caleb's self loathing, unhealthy way to handle panic attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 18:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17513681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seasaltpepper/pseuds/seasaltpepper
Summary: Fjord has nicknames for everyone, except for Caleb.





	His name will set me free

**Author's Note:**

> Drabble, un-beta-ed. Also known as ‘homage to Fjord’s voice’ as well as ‘Caleb fixates so much on Fjord's voice he has a boner and panics.’
> 
> The bulk of this was written very early on in the campaign. So a couple of things may seem weird now, specifically Nott’s relationship with Caleb and Fjord separately, and Molly, lol.
> 
> This was supposed to be a sweet and kind of fluffy character study from Caleb's POV that leadds to a kiss. Instead we have angst. Unresolved angst. Possibly because my brain is still under the influence of episode 48. No spoilers though.
> 
> Warning for description of the beginnings of a panic attack, and an unhealthy attempt at suppressing said panic attack.

 

* * *

 

 

Fjord called everyone _honey_ and _darlin_ ’ and _sugar_ – _sweet_ _peas_ that one time Nott made a spongecake with Jester; a monstrosity covered in sticky cherry jelly, charred on top but raw like slime in the center. Fjord wiped flour off of Nott’s cheeks and ate an entire half of the cake _“It’s_ _sweet_ _just_ _like_ _I_ _remember_ , _sweet_ - _cheeks_ ” he’d said. Caleb watched as Nott’s eyes grew wide and still. Watched as she flinched from age-old reflex when Fjord’s hand touched her cheek – always anticipated the recoil and disgust people never bothered to hide. A tightening clenched low in Caleb’s stomach – a missed beat in his chest – as he held on to his own generous portion of sickeningly sweet cake. The sugar must not have sat well in his stomach, he idled.

Jester got a _sweetums_ as she caught Nott falling off a bar stool from what must’ve been an overly excited game of Quick Queen’s Call. She’s _peaches_ and _love_ and _trixie_ - _pixie_ when Fjord became the target of her more enthusiastic prayers in the name of The Traveller; a note on Fjord’s shoe with Caleb’s name and squiggly lines indicating the waft of odour, or the contents of his hair ointment replaced with the essence of skunk vapor. He indulged her whims with a pat on her head and the occasional mock anger. He scolded and sputtered and swore revenge but there’s a crook at the corner of his mouth and tell-tale crease in his eyes as Jester pranced away giggling at a prank well performed.

Nott was _sugar_ when she performed a card trick for Fjord, the first card trick Caleb taught her with bloodied hands and dirt-stained cards, a tired smile reaching towards Nott’s trembling hands. She’s _puddin_ ’ and _bright_ - _eyes_ and Caleb couldn’t agree more as he found _putzig_ and _mäuschen_ slipped past his lips in the privacy of their own room. She’s _lil_ ’ _possum_ when Fjord found a ring or a shiny button missing; Caleb caught Fjord with his hand half way down his pocket one day, a shiny button sparkling from between his fingers before it disappeared purposefully into his pockets. He sheepishly avoided eye contact as he hurried to tuck away what looked like a pouch of the shiny metal trinkets that certainly wasn't meant for himself.

Even Mollymauk, as they sat amicably polishing swords, gets a ‘ _darlin_ ’ _can_ _you_ _pass_ _the_ _varnish_.’ and the occasional _blueberry_ that never failed to make Mollymauk sputter mid-step. Yasha gave Fjord a pointed look as if she contemplated if it was worth decking him before he called her _angel_. Later she indulged him behind tumblers of whiskey and pints of ales as they sat quietly in small talk. He called her _Yash_ ’ in the heat of battle and she ducked the swing of his Falchion with perfect coordination like she’s always been _Yash_ ’. Beau is a plethora of _turtle_ _dove_ and _butter_ - _cup_ and _muffin_ that clearly made her skin crawl, resulting in her own counterattack of _sweet_ _cheeks_ and _hot_ - _stuff_ and _beef_ _cake_. It spiraled messily into colourful names that made even Caleb’s face turn a shade in embarrassment.

Everyone’s a ‘ _darlin_.’ Everyone’s a ’ _baby_.’

Caleb was just Caleb. Caleb was sometimes ' _don’t_ _let Jest’s teases get to you, that’s just how she shows affection’_ and often ’ _Nott’s a great kid, don’t worry we’ll protect her too_.’ He was scratches under Frumpkin’s chin and a low purr accompanied by affectionate murmurs of _Frumpkin Pumpkin_ followed by rib-cracking sneezes. Caleb didn’t worship or polish his weapons - _because he is not brave_ \- but he poured himself into fairy tales, to history, to spell books and to baking recipes. They didn’t share quiet contemplation behind ale and whiskey; instead the heated flicker of firelight from the fireplace warmed Caleb’s profile as he spoke with animation about the ethics of necromancy versus the practical benefits.

Caleb called him Fjord. He called him _fi-yord_ because you can cover him in dirt and grime and the ghosts of many nights, but you can’t take the scholar out of Caleb. If Fjord minded, he never showed or voiced it - his eyes crinkled and the slit-like pupils softened, lips tugged upward like a twitch he can’t quite contain. He wondered how the flickering fire light affected Fjord’s ability to see, and peered at the way Fjord’s slitted pupils expanded and dilated to adjust. Maybe Nott’s cakes could use some work after all because his stomach won’t quite stop fluttering and his chest tugged with indigestion. (He didn’t have any cake that day.)

He doesn’t stop calling him Fjord ( _fi-yord_.)

He heard a _darlin_ ’ from his right, woven within one conversation or another. He was seated close to the fire yet still shivered at the deep curl of the ‘ _r_ ’ and the rough drawl in the vowel. It was a caress crawling like fingertips up the back of his neck. Fjord was a distance away grabbing more drinks from the bar, but his voice was a whisper that ghosted along the shell of Caleb’s ears. His hand came up to hold the back of his neck to quell the phantom breath that he swore he wasn’t imagining.

 _Caleb_. It was how he sounded the vowels.

He jolted from his contemplation when Fjord returned with their second round of beverages.

“Yes, I mean, I will take that. Thank you.” He fumbled to grasp the handle of the tankard. It sloshed onto the table in Caleb’s unsteady hands.

Fjord returned to his previous position - the empty space was left cold and empty when Fjord took his warmth with him to the bar. Fjord had leaned forward into the crook of Caleb’s neck, studying the text they were perusing intently. Lashes fanned downwards as he focused his gaze on the text. A gush of warm breath tickled the bare skin of Caleb's collar. Had they been speaking at this distance the entire time? He saw more than heard Fjord form the same curl that was his name. The bobble of his Adam’s apple dimly in his peripheral. The way he glimpsed a peek of his tusk when he formed the _Cay_ \- and the light purse of his lips as he landed on - _leb_. The light sheen from the ale they were consuming gleamed under firelight like honey and gold. There was a question in Fjord’s tone now and he pressed in-

“-Caleb?”

Like shattered stained glass, the rough edges of real life in it’s ragged contrasts and bright colours, and the sounds of the tavern, sharp, loud - saturated his senses. Fjord was looking at him. His pupils dilated and confusion laced his features. Caleb snapped backwards and felt his spine hit the back of the wooden chair. It made a loud echoing screech as he hit it with enough force to have dragged his chair back a few inches. He’s not, he can’t-

“Ah- it is late, I have been keeping you up,” He caught himself stammering, found his cheeks warm distinctively not from the hearth fire - embarrassed that he stammered is all. Caleb dared a glimpse at Fjord, and quickly away when he saw Fjord’s mouth slightly agape. He fixated at the fire instead. The rhythmic flickers frantically matching his heartbeat, the pressure of intense heat pressed against him, the smell of burning wood intermingled with a cloying odor of something else burning clung to the roof of his throat. It clung and choked him. He doesn’t notice the exhale that never came. The hiss of vapour escaped from damp firewood almost sounded like scr-

“I will go to bed now.” He gathered up his things too quickly, a pang of guilt at how sharp he sounded, how abrupt his movements were. The world pulsated at the edges of his vision.

“Caleb-” Fjord also stood, he sounded wounded and confused. His concern pressed into Caleb’s sternum like a heavy weight. Guilt like shackles weighing him down.

“Have a good night, Fjord.” Caleb cut him off before he can utter any pity or placating words, and willed his posture to slow. To relax- _nein_ , to mimic the appearance of relaxed. He knew what normal looked like. Eased up the pace of his speech, positioned his spine at a specific tilt, and placed his shoulder in a rounded slouch. He knew what it looked like. Understood the tells of body language. His exhale still came out too short and too ragged but _there's time for that later, he has to fix this-_

He felt Fjord watching him with intent. He could feel Fjord’s gaze studied and weighed the change in his posture. It traced down the slouch of his shoulders, grazed down his spine, and to the tilt of his hips. A curl of heat churned and simmered, liquid heat followed the trail of his gaze.

Caleb turned and escaped like the coward he was.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaahhhhh I haven't written in forever.


End file.
